


Not mine but never hers

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs the soul back, more than Sam does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not mine but never hers

Dean's unceremoniously yanked out of his, for once, dreamless night's sleep, by the sounds of someone in the room next door having violent, obnoxiously loud, acrobatic sex.

"Well damn!"

His first thought is lucky bastard, but he's already figured out in the last two months since Sam's been back and soulless, that he can't stop every two bit hooker entertaining johns in the rooms next to his. First off he'd probably end up in traction for trying, and second of all, it's not exactly fair to stop some poor dick from getting their freak on just because he isn't getting laid.

It's stupid, really. He's doing himself out of perfectly good sex, all because the new and non-improved Sam, makes his skin crawl.

He's well passed being able to fuck about with anything that moves. He got over that when he and Sammy started humping like bunnies a few years back. Now though, he's having to go without because the thing wearing his baby brother's skin and brain doesn't feel like he should.

He'd tried, he really had....

Once.

He'd gotten down to boxers, with the soul deficient one licking along his collar bone, and Dean'd realised that absolutely nothing was gonna make him be able bare his ass to that unfeeling mook.

The whole point of Sammy is that he has a soul, that he feels too much and he sees too much. This thing wearing his smile doesn't understand that you shouldn't allow your big brother to get bitten by a creature of the frigging night in order to be able to track him back to the nest. He doesn't get that the reason they took on this gig in the first place was to save people, not just for the thrill of the kill.

Dean'd missed Sam so much in the year he'd spent in Lisa's bed, that he knew something wasn't right and he'd still gone for it. Just the smell of Sam standing so close after replaying his dive downstairs over and over for twelve months, had been way too much for Dean to take and he'd been on him within seconds of making it to the motel room.

Once he'd finally known he and Lisa weren't going anywhere, which, in fairness, he'd known before he'd turned up on her doorstep, then he couldn't bring himself not to want to rekindle the thing that'd kept him from committing some heinous act of suicide.

But Sam hadn't smelled right.

He'd been in the process of imagining Sam bent over every surface in their motel room, and a sense memory had pulled him up short.

The smell of Sam all over him, the very real knowledge that that was how his baby brother smelled, and this thing with it's tongue in Dean's ear did not have the same scent.

He'd shoved Sam away, made some silly excuse about it being too much too soon.

Dean hasn't so much as removed his shirt in front of Sam since.

Once Cas had clued Dean in on the reason Sam didn't smell like Sammy, why he kept feeling his skin crawling for no other reason than his brother was stood next to him, once he knew that Sam's soul was still fiddling down south, he understood exactly why he'd punked out that first time.

Dean fundamentally knows his Sammy inside out. Whether they're in love or they hate each other. Whether they're fighting like cat and dog or they're playing happy families. Dean knows Sammy better than he knows himself. And something just hadn't sat right.

Cas's angel cavity search had just given a name to something Dean'd already figured out. Sam wasn't actually Sam.

So, Dean won't touch him, he won't hug him, he won't even let his arm lay against the back of the passenger seat. He won't go anywhere near him.

He hasn't called him Sammy since he found out he doesn't have a soul.

Contemplating taking matters into his own hands, Dean starts rummaging around in his bag for the lube when he hears a voice that makes his blood move like a glacier.

There's no mistaking Sam's unique timber. Commanding and soft all at the same time.

"Fuck!"

It's one thing to abstain when his not-brother has only made passing comments, it's another to hear the voice of the man he loves more than anything else on the planet, screaming sex related obscenities in the room next to you, "Bastard"

Dean's torn, he could flee, he could tuck tail and run like a complete Jessy, or he could wait it out, white knuckle his way through the mini-bar.

He could go in there and rip whoever Sam's got his dick buried in, into tiny little pieces. But, Dean's fairly sure that won't get him laid when he finally manages to stuff Sammy back in the box.

His Sam would definitely get upset about Dean pulling some poor innocent human to pieces just for riding it like they stole it.

Doesn't mean Dean hasn't already clicked the safety off on his gun.

He's days away from being able to get Sam's soul back and he won't jeopardise the effort by going full tilt at the soulless one before hand.

The plan's in motion, he knows who he's gotta get a hold of, he's just working out the logistics of actually making a collect call to Death.

So he'll hold off on going next door and killing whoever's making Sam make those animalistic sounds.

Dean's half way to the door and the sweet salvation of a bottle of Jack when he catches the distinct cadence of a certain Demon he'd happily rip a new one for, "No fucking way!"

He doesn't even think about it. His body takes over, brain short circuiting at the image of Sam and MEG doing anything other than trying to kill each other.

He's got a bottle of holy water in one hand, his glock in the other and he's through the door before his common sense can catch his ass up.

"WHAT the FUCK!"

Dean's head may never recover from the picture unfolding in front of him.

Meg is naked, sweaty, on all fours with her ass pushed as far in the air as it can be with Sam's bulk banging against it.

"Get the fuck away from him! Now!"

"Wha...Dean?"

To Sam's credit, he does look a little ashamed.

However Meg looks like she just won the lotto. Bitch!

"Whatcha Dean. Decided to come join the party?"

She wiggles her ass and presses backwards, dragging a hiss from Sam.

Dean throws the contents of his flask over the pair and watches, satisfied, as Meg sizzles in places she'd never considered getting blessed.

Sam scrambles backwards, pulls out and away from the demon still baring her teeth and snarling like a kicked cat, "Meg, maybe you should..."

"Fine. But Sam, he does realise that he has no claim, right? I mean, he's been back with you for months and hasn't so much as lifted a finger to claim you back. Ask him why!"

Meg slides off the bed, eyeing Dean with a cautious yet smug look on her face, and dresses at a leisurely pace.

Dean is barely holding it together. The longer she takes to get dressed, the tighter he holds his glock. Even knowing it'll just add air conditioning to her meat suit and not actually kill her, Dean doesn't care. If she isn't out of his sight in the next ten seconds, he'll riddle her with holes on principle.

"Meg. You wanna step it up, I'm this close to ripping your god damned head off, helping hand with Crowley, or not"

She's finally fully clothed and standing two feet in front of the older of the two Winchesters, "Look, you know what this one's been like. 'Do you fuck on first dates?' should've been coined for him. And I'm not being funny Dean, but what do you expect a girl to do when he offers it on a plate. Plus the look on your face right now...Better than a whole day's worth of foreplay"

Dean depresses the trigger just enough, and Sam, still butt naked, lays a hand on Dean's, "Don't. Not her fault. She's a demon, I should know better"

Smiling sweetly, Meg runs two fingers down Sam's cheek, "Hey stud, gimme a call if the reattachment doesn't take, 'kay?"

She clicks her fingers and disappears before Dean has chance to reach out and throttle her.

Sam sets about finding his boxers, all the while keeping one eye on Dean, "Look, Dean, what did you expect...."

"Don't, just don't!"

"You don't want me. I'm not him. You can't stand being in the same room as me, let alone...."

Dean safeties his gun and leans against the wall, "What do you care, Sam? You're right, you aren't him! You can't feel the things that we..."

"I can't feel it now, but I can remember what it felt like then! Looking at you like you were everything in the universe. Clinging to you when nothing else made sense. I haven't pushed because I could see I disgusted you, but I...It's still most of me Dean. The memories. The feel of your mouth on me, of your fingers inside me..."

Dean slides down the wall and collapses in a heap on the floor, "Don't, please, don't"

"What did you think I was going to do, Dean? Just stop having sex. The soul, it tethered me to what was right. I'm free. And you didn't want to know, so I just..."

"But Meg!"

Sam curls himself onto the floor in front of his brother, takes a hold of his hands and tries not to notice Dean's involuntary shudder at his touch, "She's as close to how I feel right now, as anyone. No, I have no soul, I have a swinging brick where it should be. She is a demon, she has a blackness inside that no one else not of her kind can get. Me, I get it!"

Dean allows himself the moment of contact and runs the pad of his thumb over Sam's knuckles, "We just have to....we just have to get it back. I need it back. I need him back. Please"

Sam nods his head, squeezes Dean's hands between his own and smiles sadly, or what would be sadly if he knew what that meant, "Okay. We'll get it back. We'll get him back"

Dean lets his head fall back against the wall and sighs, "Thank you"

Sam knows he isn't what Dean wants, despite being able to tell any one who asks how many freckles Dean has on his lower back. No matter that he can remember the feel of Dean's nails dragging red lines down his back.

He isn't Dean's, not yet....but he will be.


End file.
